


All the Good Slips Away

by Sineala



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Avengers Vol. 4 (2010), Begging, Community: cap_ironman, Dominance, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Shame, Stony Bingo, Submission, Tears, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 11:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15817686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: Steve is entrusted with a mysterious video of Doc Ock and Tony, a video that could be damaging to Tony's reputation. Naturally, it's best if Steve familiarizes himself with the contents.





	All the Good Slips Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [willidothefandango (nagth)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagth/gifts).



> You remember [Invincible Iron Man vol 1 #503](https://eruthros.dreamwidth.org/333317.html)? The one with Doc Ock? You maybe remember trying to blot it out of your memory? Yeah, that one.
> 
> Anyway, given all the Tony/tentacles excitement in fandom in the wake of the announcement of the cover for Tony Stark: Iron Man #7, willidothefandango asked in Discord if anyone had written a story where Steve saw the video from that IIM issue. The consensus was that no one had and also that this was my destiny.
> 
> So this was supposed to be about tentacles but ended up really much more about Steve's surprise humiliation kink. This is CNTW because the whole thing is kind of creepybadwrong and the humiliation is... difficult to explain but basically non-consensual. People with humiliation squicks will want to avoid this one.
> 
> Also a fill for my Cap-IM Bingo card, the square "kink: begging." Takes place slightly after Fear Itself, but you don't really need to know anything about Fear Itself.
> 
> Thanks to Kiyaar for beta!

The shield weighs heavily on Steve's back, its presence a reminder of everything that led him to take it up again in wake of the Serpent's War. Bucky's seeming death and resurrection. The battles against the Worthy that ruined Washington and Paris. The enchanted weapons that enabled the heroes to turn the tide of battle, bought with one of the dearest coins Steve can name: Tony's sobriety.

Tony's dealing with it. Steve hopes he's dealing with it, anyway. They haven't seen much of each other lately. Steve's had his hands full with the SHIELD transition, and he's pretty sure Tony is busy with his company. He knows Tony is sober again, and he thinks Tony still goes to AA, so he has to be doing okay. 

Someone would tell Steve if he weren't, wouldn't they?

At any rate, Steve has a lot occupying his thoughts these days. Going from Commander Rogers of the Secret Avengers to Captain America of the Avengers isn't as simple as changing his uniform and showing up to a different weekly meeting. SHIELD itself needs to be restarted, to be brought up to speed. The President's timetable is a lot to ask of a government agency anyway, but it's particularly hard in the wake of a superhuman disaster. The sort of thing SHIELD is supposed to mitigate.

The least Steve can do is help. He's up here on the helicarrier Iliad, and they've just finished a rather dry organizational meeting in which they worked out how to integrate Steve's old black-ops team into the new chain of command. He's out of his seat, ready to sign out a flying car, and head back to New York. Maybe, if he gets home soon enough, he can call Tony. Maybe if Tony's in New York they can get dinner.

Someone taps him on the shoulder. He turns, and it's Maria. She looks tired; they all do, really. There are lines around her eyes that weren't there a year ago. But she straightens up, and she gives him a businesslike nod. Steve supposes his work is never done.

"Director Hill," Steve says, politely. "What can I do for you?"

"Just one more thing. Tiny little thing. Then I promise I'll let you get home." Maria's smile is weary and conspiratorial. _We're all in this together, saving the world_ , it says, even though Steve should really know better than to trust anything SHIELD says by now.

He smiles anyway.

Maria puts her hand behind him, on the middle of the shield, as she comes around him to nudge him toward the door of the conference room. "Walk with me, Steve."

_Steve_ rather than _Captain America_ , _Steve_ rather than _Cap_. It must mean something, but Steve doesn't know what. He's spent so long trying to detangle _Steve Rogers_ from _Captain America_ that the sound of his own name makes his spine prickle in unpleasant foreboding. Maria wants a favor from Steve Rogers, not Captain America. That means it's personal, and he's had too many goddamn years of SHIELD wanting to get personal with him. If he'd wanted this, he'd have stayed in black ops.

He shouldn't say yes. He's still walking.

Out the door, down the hall, up two decks to Maria's office. It's clear that Maria's still moving in. Her desk hasn't had the time yet to accumulate all the detritus that the director of SHIELD attracts, all the stacks of paperwork waiting for review and approval. There's only a laptop, sitting in the middle of it. Steve notes the Stark Resilient logo on the back of it and remembers the last time he saw Tony, coming to the Quincarrier to hand him his newly reforged shield. Tony smiled at him, then, bright and beautiful and victorious.

Maria doesn't offer him a chair as she comes around to the other side of the desk, so whatever this is, it's not going to take a lot of time. Steve always appreciates that about SHIELD. No nonsense. As Steve watches, she slides her glove off and presses her finger to a lock panel; one of the desk drawers pops open. She retrieves a small rectangular object. A flash drive, it looks like.

Maria meets his gaze. Her stance is firm, poised, every inch the commander, but her eyes aren't. For instant, something sad and empathetic flashes in them, and then she takes a breath and straightens up again.

"Right," Maria says. "What I wanted to let you know was that SHIELD recently came into the possession of a certain video recording, formerly the property of Otto Octavius." She holds up the flash drive between thumb and forefinger. "The recording concerns -- and features -- Tony Stark."

Steve blinks. It's not out of the ordinary for SHIELD to loop him in, unofficially, on whatever they're doing. But Doc Ock is Spider-Man's business if he's anyone's. And -- much as Steve wishes it were otherwise -- Steve's relationship with Tony is a friendship, and it doesn't make them an inseparable unit in the eyes of society. Telling Steve something is no guarantee that he'll be able to get the information back to Tony in a reasonable timeframe. It's not like they're married. Tony doesn't even live in New York, these days.

He tries not to think about what he can't have. The longing slides away, pushed back down, the way it always has. He raises an eyebrow. "And you're telling me this instead of Tony because...?"

The corners of Maria's mouth turn up in something that isn't exactly a smile. "The recording depicts a conversation from just before the Serpent's War that is potentially--" 

"Damaging," Steve fills in, his heart sinking, and he waits as Maria's mouth pulls to the side. 

"Well," she concludes. "Not exactly. It's complicated. There's nothing damaging about it, per se. Tony doesn't act in any way that's illegal, unethical, or harmful to others."

"Of course not," Steve says, instantly, and he regrets the automatic scorn in his voice. He knows he'll always stand up for Tony, but he also knows that Maria is on his side. She must be. She wouldn't have come to him otherwise.

Steve tries not to grind his teeth. No one ever understands how Tony is the best and bravest of them all, how he'll sacrifice whatever's necessary to save a world that will turn around and excoriate him for it. It's not that humanity spits on all its heroes. But sometimes they just save it for Tony.

"What I'm saying," Maria continues, "is that it's the sort of thing that could further lower Tony's already precarious reputation."

Steve blows out a breath. "That still doesn't explain why I'm here and he's not."

"I get the impression," Maria says, and her voice turns delicate, a tone he's never heard from her, "that Tony's... under a lot of stress, about recent events." Her lips thin. "He doesn't know the recording exists. And I-- I worry that if I'm the one who gives this to him--"

And then Steve understands, finally, why Maria's called him. He's Captain America. He's trustworthy. And he's Tony's friend. Tony's never had a lot of fondness for SHIELD, and if Maria tells him that they have compromising material on him -- material she's clearly already watched, judging by the way she's talking about it -- Tony is going to draw all the wrong conclusions. And Tony's going to feel a lot worse than he already does, and then who knows what will happen? Steve can feel his guts twist into misery at the thought. Sure, Tony might be sober again, but they all know it could be a lot worse than it is now. Tony's walking a knife's edge and they know what happens if he falls.

But if Steve has the recording -- Steve, Tony's old pal Winghead -- well, then there's obviously no way that Steve wants to use the information to hurt Tony. He can just hold onto it as a friend. And when Tony seems stable, they can talk about it. Hell, Tony can even tell him what's on the recording.

It's probably nothing, anyway. It won't be a big deal.

"The recording." Steve's voice echoes in his own ears. He sounds more curt than he means to. _Let's get this over with._ "Who's watched it?"

"Me," Maria says, coolly. "Which is why we're having the conversation. A couple of SHIELD techs watched the beginning to log the timestamps and reported it immediately when they realized that it was sensitive material. This is our only copy. We're reasonably confident that no other copies exist in the wild." Her mouth quirks. "Supervillains don't usually go for redundant off-site backups."

"Thank God for that," Steve says, and he watches Maria toy with the drive, turning it over and over between her bare fingers. "So... that's it, then? It's all there?"

"It's all here," Maria agrees. And then she smiles, a real smile. "There are no safer hands than yours, Steve. And I'm sure Tony would feel the same way."

Palm open, Steve holds out his hand.

* * *

By the time he gets home, to his lonely apartment, he's actually almost forgotten about the drive. He cooks himself dinner, he eats dinner, he washes the dishes, and then he sits down with a pile of Avengers paperwork. Hours pass, and there's nothing but forms, forms, and more forms. All thoughts of... well, anything else... are driven out of his head entirely. The next time he looks up it's ten o'clock. Time to call it a night.

When he's sitting on the bed emptying the contents of his belt pouches -- phone, keys, wallet, identicard -- onto the nightstand, the flash drive tumbles out with them.

It's an innocuous little thing, the drive. Black. Cheaply made. Clearly not a Stark product, for all that it apparently contains a video of Tony.

And then he thinks: _I could watch it._

Maria didn't say anything one way or the other about him watching it, or even giving it to Tony himself. She just asked him to hold onto it. And even if whatever is on it could make the public think less of Tony -- well, Steve isn't exactly any ordinary fella, is he? Tony's his friend. For God's sake, he loves Tony. And so there's nothing that could be on it that would lessen his opinion of Tony. That's just a fact. Incontrovertible.

It might be _better_ if he watched it. Even if Tony doesn't know that the recording exists, whatever is on that video is something that Tony did. Something that happened to him. So Tony knows what happened. And if, God forbid, someone else does find out whatever it is, Tony will already have someone in his corner. Tony won't be able to put the worst possible spin on things. Steve will know the truth, because he'll have seen it, and he'll be there to defend him. To reassure him. To do whatever Tony needs.

And then if he watches it, he'll know what's on it, and he can make an informed decision about telling Tony.

It sounds like a good plan to him.

With that decided, he palms the drive, gets up, and fetches his laptop -- Stark brand, of course -- from where it sits across the room on his dresser, carrying everything back to bed with him. He gets his back against the headboard and stretches out, setting the laptop on his thighs, opening it. He puts the drive in.

There's one file on the drive, a video file. The filename is a string of numbers: 2011-04-04. Two days before the comets fell to Earth, the comets that bore the hammers of the Worthy. Yeah, they've all had a lot on their minds since then.

He opens it.

The video starts playing. It's some kind of security footage, maybe; the angle is high. Tony's in a mostly nondescript greenish room. Doc Ock is standing behind him, his robotic tentacles planted on the floor and supporting his weight as he looms over Tony. Tony is kneeling on the floor in front of a device with a six-minute timer, counting down; the device is plastered with the international symbol for radioactivity.

"How are you going to work this one out?" Ock taunts, on screen, and Steve breathes out and barely restrains himself from punching his laptop. "Where's that infamous intellect of yours now?"

Tony's armored up, save for his face and fingertips; the glow of the RT nodes in his armor is too bright for the camera, washing out the screen in spots of light. Tony's clearly been on the losing end of a fight: there are open cuts on his face, and bruising around his neck suggests a recent tangle with tentacles. His eyes are glassy, and he's sweating as his expression twists, as he struggles with the bomb, as it ticks away.

Tension knots Steve's stomach, tightens his throat. Jesus, Ock had an atomic bomb and he had no idea. Why didn't he know? Ock was _threatening Tony_ and he never knew. Steve's fist clenches uselessly in the covers next to him. His pulse is pounding; his body is revving up for a fight that was over weeks ago.

It's okay, he reminds himself. Whatever happened, Tony's okay. He can be rational about this. He forces back the hot wash of anger. No bomb went off. He knows that much. Tony must have defused it. And Tony's alive and well and Steve has seen him since this. Whatever Ock did to him, it can't be the worst of Steve's fears. Tony survived this.

It can't have been a big deal if Tony didn't even mention it later. This can't be as bad as it looks, Steve tells himself. He takes a slow, deliberate breath. He doesn't feel much calmer.

Whatever it is, it's already happened, anyway.

Ock taunts him more, and Tony frowns and ignores him. Steve watches Tony's hands rove over the device.

"Your mind versus mine," Ock sneers. "To win, you have to lose."

"Shut up. You're insane," Tony says. He sounds snappish. Understandable, given the circumstances. "I'm trying to concentrate--"

"Try harder," Ock says, and Steve gasps as Ock's tentacles wrap around Tony, at his waist, at -- no, no, no -- his throat, and drag him back, away from the bomb.

He throws Tony into the opposite wall, but Tony recovers fast, elbows Ock in the back of the head -- an especially nasty move with the full force of the armor behind it, Steve thinks, as Tony again suggests that Ock shut up -- and drags himself back to the bomb.

"I don't have time for your post-life crisis right now," Tony says, faceplate down, with Iron Man's confident voice. "I'm trying to save lives."

Steve wonders what the hell is going on here.

"No, boy," Ock snarls. "I'm not done with you yet."

Something about the way Ock calls Tony _boy_ sends a tendril of uncomfortable heat through Steve, threading through the raw hollow place in his chest where his anger ought to live. He ought to be angry. It's callous denigration and he should hate to hear it. Of course he's angry, he tells himself. There's nothing else he could feel.

He glances away from the screen, like he's somehow too close, like he needs it to stop. Something about this is too intimate. He feels like some kind of voyeur.

He doesn't hit pause.

Ock wraps four tentacles around Tony and drags him back again; Tony digs his gauntleted hands into the floor, leaving long scratches, bending a panel beneath him backwards, ripping it off the floor, hitting Ock with it. Enough tentacles loosen that Tony can escape again. He has the bomb casing open now. Wires are spread out in front of him.

"Hah," Tony says, the satisfaction obvious through the suit filters, through all the years Steve's spent learning to read Tony no matter how much armor he's wearing. "Otto, you've outdone yourself."

"You have no idea," Ock intones.

Tony has this, Steve knows. He can tell as much from the confidence in Tony's voice. Tony's going to defuse the bomb and everything is going to be okay. Steve can't imagine what about this would be so damaging to Tony's reputation -- or worse, his confidence. Maybe the public wouldn't approve of how Tony is mouthing off to Ock. Steve's definitely heard worse from his fellow heroes over the years; as trash talk goes, it's pretty mild. But most heroes aren't the CEOs of major companies. Tony has additional standards to live up to. 

"What's next?" Tony asks. "Nazi bees?"

The timer on the bomb, which had read 4:02, now reads 2:01.

"Oh," Tony says, dully, faceplate tilting down.

Steve can barely make out Ock's face, what with the mask and the glasses, but his voice is grimly joyful. "I win."

Steve truly -- blindingly, _viciously_ \-- wants to strangle this bastard with his own tentacles. 

He breathes in and out. He reminds himself that Tony's okay. Tony's safe. Everyone is safe. This is over. Tony already beat him. He can ask Tony about this the next time they meet.

Tony turns around to face Ock. He sits, coming up to kneeling, back on his heels; the entire helmet of his armor ripples and slides away. His face is pale and tense, his eyes wide and sad. He tilts his head back to look up at Ock, up and up. The tentacles, surrogate limbs, push Ock high off the floor; his own feet are dangling slightly above the top of Tony's head.

Steve watches as Tony presses his palms together in supplication. The nodes on the back of his hands glow, illuminating his desperate face.

"Please, Otto." Tony's voice is hoarse, and something inside Steve twists, deep within him, something strange and hot and unknown that both is and isn't sympathy. "Stop this. You have to stop this. You can't want your legacy to be that you killed millions of people."

Tony's a persuasive man; Steve knows better than most people how difficult it is to resist him when he really wants something.

"Can't I?" Ock's tone darkens. "Beg for it, Stark. Call me 'master' and beg for their lives."

An odd, nebulous warmth flares within Steve's gut, hovering on the edge of nausea. This many years into his career, Steve's familiar with every variety of high-and-mighty bullshit that a villain can spew. He's been the object of this demand more than a few times himself.

Tony blinks rapidly. "What?" he asks, and his voice cracks in confusion. It's like he doesn't know what's going on here, but he must. 

Steve waits for Tony to tilt his chin up defiantly, take a breath, punch back with some insult. Steve's mouth is dry, and there's a tension within him he can't quite put a name to. His pulse is pounding in his ears.

Dread gathers in his stomach, tight, tense. All of this already happened and he can't stop it. It's all going to play out in front of him.

"Beg your master for mercy," Ock repeats, more stridently. "Petition me with prayer."

Good God. Steve grits his teeth, but the warmth in him isn't anger at all. It feels like walking out into the sunlight, like being thirty seconds out from Rebirth. He doesn't understand what his body is doing. He's keyed-up, poised, waiting, like something inside him has been waiting for this moment for so long.

Tony's shaking. His eyes are downcast. His face is even paler. His chest is heaving, the armor moving around him as he breathes.

"Please don't do this," Tony whispers, the words raw, ripped out of him. "Master."

The word makes something terrible and wonderful catch in Steve's chest, and he should hate this, he should hate to see Tony reduced to this, he should-- he should--

And then -- seemingly of his own free will -- Tony cups the closest tentacle in his hand, draws it to his lips, and presses a beseeching kiss to the metal.

Steve's heart skips a beat, and if Ock says anything in reply he can't hear it over the roaring in his ears. Heat rushes through him, a river, a waterfall, a torrent, and frantically Steve slams the space bar to pause the video, but now it's even worse, because it's frozen on an image of Tony, Tony on his knees, his eyes closed, his lips still pressed to Ock's tentacle. 

Steve is suddenly, achingly hard. 

Tony is beautiful like this. Steve's always known Tony was beautiful, but this -- God, he's never thought about Tony like this. He's never thought about anyone like this. But here's Tony, kneeling on the floor, completely and utterly surrendered, a study in abject desolation. He'll do whatever Ock tells him to.

_He'd do whatever I told him to_ , he thinks, and desire and shame twine and burn within him. He can't remember ever wanting anyone as much as he wants Tony right now.

Terrified of himself, he shoves the laptop away, but he can still see Tony's face.

His cock throbs, trapped in his uniform, and it's all he can do not to rip open his fly. Shove his hand down his pants. He'd be gone in about twenty seconds. He's already that close. It wouldn't take much. Hell, if he just rolls over, rubs up against the mattress, it'll only be a few thrusts. He'd come in his pants. He'd be a mess. It's no more than he deserves right now. He's sick. He's a pervert. He's watching his friend beg for his life, for the lives of millions--

_Oh, God, Tony's begging_ , he thinks, and he feels his cock twitch, leak pre-come, soak the leather of his uniform.

He shouldn't want this. He can't want this. He's never wanted this. He's no innocent; he knows that some people like to play games that look like this, but this has never done it for him. He's dismissed the thought of it. In his own relationships, he's always been scrupulously fair about equality, about everything being even. He knows his own strength. He knows how easy it would be for him to take advantage of it. He's been so careful. He can't want to see someone he loves degraded, _humiliated_ \--

But he can. He can and he does and he wants Tony like this. Just like this. He wants Tony to beg for him. He can picture it now, he can picture Tony at his feet, shaking, debased, used. His.

A moan escapes his lips despite himself, and he slaps one hand over his mouth in despair and palms his cock hard, desperately, with his other hand, as if that could keep any of it away. 

Steve has been hiding this within himself all along. Everything had to be fair, even, equal, soft, gentle. Everything had to be balanced, because the alternative is this, the scales tipped, flipped, broken. He's sick and he's wrong and he can't want this, he can't be this, but he does and he is.

And the worst part is, there's more of the video.

He knows now what Maria meant about Tony's reputation. If this got out, people would think it made Tony less of a man. They'd mock him, seeing him like this. They wouldn't feel the way Steve feels, watching it, but it would be bad.

Maybe the way Steve feels is worse.

He's supposed to be the trustworthy one. He's supposed to be safe. He's supposed to keep Tony from harm, by being the only one with this video. He's not supposed to betray him, body and soul. He's not supposed to want it all and more.

There's more of the video. _Tony won't know_ , the devil on his shoulder whispers. _You don't have to tell him. He'll never know. It'll be a secret. You know he's kept secrets from you. You can keep this from him._

Cold sweat pools in the hollow of Steve's throat as he reaches out with a shaking hand to hit play again. He has to know. He wants to watch it all.

He drags his other hand away from his cock. He grips the sheets until his fingers tremble with the strain.

"Mmm." Ock's grunt is unimpressed, and Steve can't believe this isn't enough when it's more than enough for him. "I don't think you mean it. Watch this. Time flies for men like me, Stark, see?"

The timer on the bomb now reads 0:30.

"Otto!" Tony gasps. "Master!"

Steve's heart is pounding. His body twists on the sheets as he aches in desire, his cock throbbing, his balls tight with need.

"Master. Please. I beg you." There are tears sliding down Tony's cheeks, huge fat tears, and it's the most beautiful thing Steve's ever seen. He's seen Tony cry before, but he's never seen him cry like this, his sobs miserable and desperate and lonely. He's been lowered and ruined. There's nothing left of his pride. "I am begging you. You are right, I am wrong, you're smarter than me and you always were-- please--"

It's all too easy to imagine how it could be otherwise. If Steve were there, it would be different. Better. Tony lies at his feet, because this is all Steve will allow him. No bravado left in him, no ego, no smart remarks. The humiliation burns everything away but the fragile core of him. He imagines the tears on Tony's face, he imagines Tony saying _anything you want_ , he imagines Tony saying _please, Steve_.

_No_ , he tells Tony, and he lets his mouth curl around the word. _Call me master._

Tony doesn't want this, Tony doesn't want this at all, and Steve is gasping, breathless with need, still watching, as Tony reaches up and wraps his hands around Ock's legs, and he's lower than dirt and Steve _wants him to stay there_.

He imagines Tony prostrate before him, touching only what Steve will let him. _Kiss my boots_ , he imagines telling Tony, as Tony crawls to him, as Tony pleads to be allowed more, pleads for something that won't be up to him to decide. Tony doesn't get to pick. He's Steve's in every way.

And God, oh God, if Steve doesn't come right now he's going to die, and he rips desperately at his uniform pants--

"Fine," Ock says, to Tony. Steve barely cares anymore.

Steve has his cock in his hand, pumping it roughly, with all the pain he deserves, as Tony exhales, heavy and miserable. Tony's moaning "oh, God" under his breath, crawling to the bomb -- God, yes, on his knees -- demanding to know if it's off. If the bomb's been deactivated.

"It's fine," Ock says. "It's not really a bomb."

It was a fake. It was a fake, and Ock just wanted to humiliate Tony, and Steve just wants to humiliate Tony, and as Ock leaves Tony is alone, still kneeling next to the bomb, hunched over himself and trembling as Steve's grip tightens on the head of his cock, twists, punishingly hard as he thrusts into his own fist.

He shouldn't be doing this and he's degrading Tony by watching this, by doing this, and that thought takes hold within him, knots just behind his aching balls in a mix of horror and arousal. He thinks he's harder than he's ever been in his life, and all he can picture are the tears on Tony's face. He knows he'll never be able to think of anything else ever again. If he sleeps with anyone else, he'll be sliding into them, soft and sweet and gentle, always gentle. He'll be on the edge, and he'll never be able to finish inside them until he thinks of this, this moment, this fantasy, Tony on his knees, looking up at him with his ruined, tear-streaked face, suffering for him--

The picture in his head changes, is better, is worse, is Tony naked now, naked and hard. Tony looks up at him like Steve could destroy him and he knows it, and Tony says, _please, master, please let me come_ , and Steve laughs in his head and imagines coming on Tony's chest, on his face. Marking him with his own filthy spend. Rolling him over, spreading him open, holding him down with all his strength and coming on his back, on his gaping hole, denying him the pleasure of his own release, even the pleasure of Steve's cock within him, because there's nothing left of him except what Steve allows him, because Steve can take him apart and he already knows Tony would let him.

He can rip Tony to pieces, down to the core of him, carve away everything Tony doesn't need, because he loves Tony, because he knows what Tony needs, doesn't he, he always knows what Tony needs, he can give Tony this and make him like it--

Steve realizes he's crying and he can't draw a breath and he's coming and all he can think of is _Tony Tony Tony_ as his cock spurts in his hand, again and again. It's perfect and it's hideous.

There's come all over his uniform. He doesn't care.

The video ends.

Steve reaches out with one disgusting hand and presses play again.

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a [Tumblr post](http://sineala.tumblr.com/post/177457978509/fic-all-the-good-slips-away) if you want one.


End file.
